


Till Kingdom Come

by burymeinziam



Series: The Fountain [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fountain of Youth, Liam-centric, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-02
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 06:13:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/988657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burymeinziam/pseuds/burymeinziam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That’s when Liam misses him most: when Zayn is right there, with him, but not really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Till Kingdom Come

It was on Zayn’s thirtieth birthday, he thinks.

Or maybe it was his twenty-ninth? It’s hard to remember sometimes because, over time, everything started to blend and blur together and that lifetime he’d spent with the only boy he’s ever really loved seemed like something that happened a million lifetimes previous.

Liam wasn’t really sure how he felt about that.

He never wanted to forget. As much as it hurt to remember Zayn, the way he laughed or smiled or cried. The way he used to look at Liam with eyes that made it seem as if Zayn couldn’t see anything other than the man standing in front of him. As much as it hurt to think about the time they spent together, it was something Liam never wanted to forget because it was special and theirs.

It was his thirty-first birthday.

Liam had baked Zayn a cake and drawn thirty-one comic book style with some icing he’d picked up from the market in town and set it out on the table with breakfast before Zayn woke up. He brewed some coffee, left his mug in the kitchen, and took Zayn’s into the bedroom where he climbed on top of his boyfriend, straddling his hips, and woke Zayn up with the sweet scent of caffeine.

“Mm, that coffee?” Zayn asked, his eyes still shut and his voice thick and raspy with sleep.

Liam nodded, cradling the mug with two hands. “Just for you,” he answered.

Slowly, Zayn removed his hands from underneath the blankets he’d wrapped himself in to either side of Liam’s hips before cracking an eye open. It never ceased to amaze him how little Liam changed. He was still as young as he’d been the day Zayn had met him. The only thing that ever changed was his hair, really, and even that had remained constant over the past few years. There were no crow’s feet, or laugh lines or age spots. Liam was stuck at twenty-three for the rest of his life.

And then there was Zayn. He was thirty-one today – eight years Liam’s senior – and he was beginning to feel it. He could spot the crow’s feet and the laugh lines if he looked hard enough and he became tired a little more frequently. He also really didn’t want to think about how he was starting to notice how his and Liam’s sex life was beginning to change a little as well.

But there were little things that came with age that Zayn sort of loved. He liked being able to connect with Liam on a slightly deeper level as he progressed in life. Zayn had never been what he would consider immature, but with age comes wisdom and a deeper sense of maturity and as each year passed him by Zayn was able to understand Liam a little better. Most of all, though, Zayn loved the way Liam looked at him as time ticked on by. Liam was happy and grateful and Zayn knew it was because he was getting older. He knew Liam was glad that Zayn was able to have something that Liam had deprived himself of so many years ago. And while it was a little sad because Zayn knew he’d one day eventually leave, he was glad he was at least able to give Liam that.

“Happy Birthday,” Liam said, leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to Zayn’s lips. “You’re getting old.”

Zayn cracked a smile, giving Liam’s hips a gentle squeeze before freeing up one of his hands so he could take the mug from Liam’s. He took a quick sip from the cup Zayn let his eyes fall shut and sighed as the warm liquid slid down his throat. “Mmm.”  Zayn could swear that coffee was almost as good as sex. “You’re one to talk,” he finished, opening his eyes and giving Liam a pointed look. “What are you now? 200?”

Liam rolled his eyes. “158, asshole.”

Zayn grinned and took another sip of coffee. “And still young as ever.”

Liam wasn’t sure what was so great about that day because it was sort of just like any other aside from the cake and Zayn playfully swatting his shoulder while Liam sang him happy birthday over breakfast. They spent the afternoon walking hand in hand through the woods, following a path that twisted and turned around the trees and eventually led to a giant clearing where the grass was going yellow. They layed out in the grass and found patterns in the clouds, acting like children and naming the most inappropriate images they could find.

Liam remembered how much Zayn had laughed, the look of undeniable joy on his face when they had wrestled in the grass, the light sheen of sweat that coated Zayn’s skin when Liam’s hands slipped beneath his shirt and things quickly took a turn from playful towards erotic. Liam remembered the hunger in Zayn’s eyes and the urgency that radiated from his body and onto Liam’s.

Liam remembers it being like all the times before and yet somehow different. Zayn’s hands were just as familiar on Liam’s skin as they had always been and his lips felt the same as they always had when they dragged themselves across Liam’s jaw and up to the outer shell of his ear. Zayn’s body covering Liam’s felt just as sure and heavy and grounding as ever and yet everything was somehow different.

Zayn’s skin was still salty sweet and his body was compliant and trusting as always when Liam flipped them over in the grass, pressing himself close just so he could feel Zayn all over; just because he could.

Everything was the same and somehow different and maybe it was because it was Zayn’s birthday, but also because maybe this was the first time they were accepting things – or themselves – for what they were.

That was probably what it was, Liam thinks, because none of this was planned. They hadn’t gone out that day with the intent to wander down that trail so they could make love in a field of dying, yellow grass. When Zayn draped his body over Liam’s and pushed his way inside it was harsh and dry aside from the saliva he’d used to slick himself up. It was harsh and it burned, but Liam remembers thinking it was beautiful because it was also them. They were harsh and they burned and they were tragic, but Liam also thinks they were like poetry; He and Zayn, they flowed and they rhymed even if, sometimes, they rhymed without reason.

That day was different because when Zayn pulled out and urged Liam onto his back before slipping back inside, their eyes met and there was this spark, this connection, and Liam figured that it went without saying that they both sort of realized that that was it; that day was what they were. It was Zayn’s birthday and he was another year older and they were closer than ever, but they were also another year closer to the end. It was them accepting this for what it was, really accepting it.

Because maybe before then Zayn had still kind of been hoping that Liam would eventually show him the fountain so they could be forever just like he had always wanted.

Because maybe Zayn was realizing that maybe while forever sounded nice a lifetime with Liam – growing old with Liam by his side and holding his hand the entire way — was just as great; maybe even better.

Liam remembered how when Zayn’s eyes met his as filled him up a second time it felt as if it was Zayn’s way of handing himself over completely; how honest his eyes had looked when he buried his face into the crook of Liam’s neck and told Liam he loved him and how this had to be one of the best days of his life. 

It was Zayn’s thirty-first birthday and Liam remembers it all and so much more and that’s really what hurts the most.

Liam knows, deep down, that he never wants to forget the lifetime he spent loving Zayn but sometimes he does because even after two hundred years missing him hasn’t gotten any easier. Liam still wanders his house and finds little things that remind him of Zayn; a half-finished cup of coffee sitting on the living room table (because Zayn never finished a cup – he always get distracted with something and only to forget all about it and by the time he came back to finish it the coffee was cold and “ _honestly, Liam, a microwaved cup of coffee is never the same._ ”) or an old sketch, faded and wrinkled, tucked between the pages of an old book Liam had tucked away in the shelf in their bedroom. Liam finds these things and he misses Zayn even more, his heart aches with it.

Sometimes Liam visits Zayn. He’ll walk down to the cemetery and sit down in front of Zayn’s headstone (now cracked and faded with an age Liam will never know) and he’ll talk to him. Some days Liam will talk and tell Zayn about how so much has changed since he’s been gone. He’s always honest – even when it hurts and he has to tell Zayn about a boy he’d met in town; about how sometimes Liam just gets too lonely, but none of them are Zayn; nobody could ever be Zayn – and he always speaks freely because that’s how they’d always been. Other days Liam is quiet and he just sits and listens to wind, feels the breeze wash over him in the hopes of catching a hint of Zayn. There are days when Liam brings one of Zayn’s old books and reads to him the way they used to do when they visited the lake and Zayn would read old poetry while Liam listened. It’s never the same because Zayn they aren’t by the lake and Zayn is six feet underground, but if Liam closes his eyes between poems and focuses all of his attention on it he can almost feel the sun on his skin and Zayn’s voice, soft and smooth and sure, washing over him in slow, gentle waves.

That’s when Liam misses him most: when Zayn is right there, with him, but not really.

And it’s when Liam misses Zayn the most that he feels that heat pooling low in his stomach and it’s boiling and bubbling and that’s when Liam kind of hates Zayn just as much as he loves him. It’s when Liam misses Zayn the most that he feels the mostly lonely and everything and everyone he comes into contact with only seems to serve the purpose of reminding him that Zayn was gone; Zayn had left him.

Everything reminds him of Zayn and Liam hates him.

Liam knew it wasn’t Zayn’s fault that he had died when Liam couldn’t and left him here to wander around feeling more lost than he ever had before because Liam had found a home when he’d met Zayn. Liam had owned a house before Zayn, he had a bed to sleep in and a kitchen to eat in and a living room to read in and things – so many things – but he didn’t have a home. Then Zayn came along and everything seemed to fit and Liam felt like he’d found that missing piece to the puzzle. Suddenly everything made sense and wherever he went, even during those times when Zayn was away and learning to love another boy and getting tattoos and finding himself – Liam felt grounded with the knowledge that Zayn was out there and he’d reserved a special space in his heart just for Liam.

And then Zayn had died. His heart stopped beating and he’d left and he’d taken that spot that had been just for Liam with him.

Liam hated him.

Liam hated Zayn, but he hated himself more because he’d let him. He’d let Zayn go when, once upon a time, Zayn had begged Liam to let him stay. Sometimes Liam wonders if he should have just given in and shown Zayn the fountain; if he should have let him drink and trap Zayn here forever with him for all of eternity because a lifetime with Zayn was beautiful but an eternity could have been so much more.

Liam thinks maybe he shouldn’t have been so noble, that perhaps being selfish wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Now, sitting in the cemetery in front of a stone plaque with Zayn’s name etched onto the surface Liam just feels sad. It’s not one of those lucky days when he’s able to trick himself into believing Zayn is there with him even though he desperately wishes that it were. It’s just that Liam knows better. When someone leaves, they’re gone and they don’t ever come back; not really. He’s just left with memories that are comforting at first but then turn into something that only makes Liam’s heart ache even more than it had at the person’s initial departure.

And Zayn is no different; not in that regard.

If anything Zayn is worse because Liam could have made him stay. That’s the worst part. Zayn could have stayed.

He doesn’t say anything when he leaves because he’s afraid that any words that leave his mouth will be angry and, on the off chance that Zayn is really there and listening, Liam doesn’t want that to be the last thing Zayn hears from him.

Because Liam isn’t really sure he can come back.

When he gets home Liam packs his life into boxes, labeling the tops with the contents he’d placed inside. He separates the stuff from before with the stuff from after, packing the bits of his life that had intertwined with Zayn’s separately because he feels like all of the things belong to two different people.

When he’s done, the house feels bare and empty and unlived in. He sits in his father’s chair and doesn’t feel as safe and warm as he used to and Liam isn’t sure if that’s a good thing; If that means that he’s moved on or if he’s lost the ability to feel anything at all.

Liam doesn’t think he’ll try the gun again and the pills only made him feel sick afterwards. He wonders if he ties the knot a little tighter and allows himself to dangle a little longer than before if hanging might work the second time around.

Liam wonders who will find him and if they’ll be sad or scared or angry or if they’ll simply feel nothing at all.

Liam wonders who will miss him before remembering that the answer is simple and it’s nobody because Liam has no one at all. He realizes that this is what it was always going to come down to. He was always pushing people away, keeping them at arm’s length, so they couldn’t hurt him and leave him all alone in the end. When he really thinks about it, Liam realizes he’d done it with Zayn too. He’d let Zayn in and loved him until the very end, but he never let Zayn stay.

Liam was always meant to be alone; he was always meant to die alone.

He thinks it might be punishment for being so selfish and unappreciative; for taking something as precious as time and stealing it for himself. He thinks it’s punishment for taking time away from Zayn when he’d asked Liam for forever.

Liam isn’t really sure if it’s that complex or if it’s as simple as maybe Liam is just alone and that’s all there is to it.

He goes as far as finding the rope and tying the noose and stepping onto the chair. He’s about to slip the rope around his neck and kick the chair from beneath his feet when Liam just feels tired. His arms feel too heavy and they fall to his sides and then Liam is just standing there, face blank and void of emotion, thinking about everything and nothing at all. Liam’s mind is racing but everything is moving too fast for him to really process it. Liam can see Zayn through all of his years laughing and smiling and crying and screaming at the top of his lungs. He sees all the times Zayn looked at him and told him how much he loved him and then all of the times Zayn looked at Liam like he hardly knew him at all. Liam saw his parents and his siblings and all of the other people in between. Liam saw nearly five hundred years of life and he wonders if this is what really happens before you die.

But he’s still standing there and he’s breathing and Liam knows he hasn’t died.

He’s just tired.

Mindlessly, Liam steps off of the chair and begins to walk toward the front door. Suddenly the house feels too claustrophobic. Liam’s hand is on the knob when he turns around to take one last survey of the living room, committing everything to memory because he isn’t even sure if he’ll be coming back.

Then he spots it.

It’s under the couch and it’s hardly even noticeable unless you’re looking for it or looking at the room with some sort of specific intent. It’s a leather notebook; the one Liam had given Zayn for his birthday the year he died. Zayn hardly drew anymore back then because his arthritis was so bad and holding a pen for too long hurt his hands, but Liam knew that he liked to try and the notebook was simple and classy in a way that was a painful reminder of Zayn and Liam couldn’t resist.

He wasn’t even sure if Zayn had ever even used the book just that his eyes had gone sort of misty as his fingers danced across the leather cover before he looked at Liam and whispered a quiet thank you.

Liam doesn’t open the book until he gets there. It’s tucked safely inside of his jacket pocket a solid reminder of what’s to come because Liam somehow knows this is how it was always meant to end. He doesn’t know what’s tucked away in the pages, but knows there’s something and it’s from Zayn and it has to be there when Liam goes back.

The path is long and winding and, for a moment, Liam thinks he’d forgotten the way and begins to contemplate turning around and starting over again. But then he spots it and it’s just as it was the first time he’d seen it; unchanged even after five hundred years.

The water is just as clear and the foliage just as green. It’s like something out of a painting or a movie. Liam still really can’t believe his eyes.

He sits near the water, staring at his reflection and seeing the same boy who’d looked back at him in the mid-1800s when was young and selfish and naïve. Liam doesn’t dwell on it much because, even though he still looks like that boy who drank all those years ago, that isn’t really him; not anymore.

Instead, Liam crosses his legs and slips the notebook from his pocket. He skirts his fingers over the cover and finds comfort in the knowledge that Zayn’s fingers had touched the same leather. When he opens it, on the first page Liam finds a picture of a clock, the one Zayn had gotten tattooed on his back when he’d gone on his trip with Niall.

Beneath it, Zayn had written  _it reminded me of you…_

It’s then that Liam realizes Zayn had meant for him to find it. Zayn had hidden the book in plain sight knowing Liam would stumble upon it.

Each page is filled with a small drawing or just a few words. Sometimes the lines are a bit shaky and Liam knows it’s probably because Zayn’s hand had started to cramp up. When the tears fall, Liam is sure not to let them touch the pages in fear of them smearing the ink and ruining everything. The pages are already aged and the ink impossibly faded but it’s still there and it’s still Zayn and Liam doesn’t want to alter anything.

As he progresses through the pages, Liam can tell Zayn’s handwriting is getting shakier and he knows the end is coming soon. He thinks Zayn knows it too because on some pages there are no pictures just a few words

( _I love you._

_I miss you._

_I wish I could stay)._

Near the end there’s a small drawing of a fountain. There’s a date in the corner, one day before Liam found Zayn lying breathless in bed, and it’s like he’d known. Zayn had known all along.

There’s a small picture of a fountain, nothing like the one before Liam a few hundred years later. It’s just a standard stone fountain that’s usually found in home gardens or small shopping centers. Beneath it is a message and Liam reads it over a few times, looking from the book to the pool of water in front of him and then he knows. He knows that this is it and somehow Zayn had known it too.

Liam sets the book down in the grass, leaving it opened to the last page before scooting forward and staring into the water, looking down at his reflection. Liam still looks young, but if he looks hard enough he can see his age. His heart feels as though it could burst right out of his chest and Liam hasn’t even taken a single sip.

And then he does.

He reaches down and takes a handful of the water and lifts it to his lips, feels it splash against his tongue and slide down his throat.

And then nothing. It’s not like a bullet to the head or a handful of pills or a rope tied around his neck. Liam just feels sleepy as he moves back to where he’d been sitting before and picks up the book. He just feels tired like he had when he’d been thinking about kicking the chair out from beneath his feet.

He wonders if that would have been a better option.

But then his muscles begin to ache and his eyes feel heavy and sitting upright becomes somewhat of a chore. Breathing becomes a bit harder and Liam’s lips curve up into a smile. He thinks about Zayn’s messages toward the end of the notebook.

( _I love you._

_I miss you._

_I’m coming home._ )

Liam falls back into the grass and stares at the sky through the trees when the strain on his back becomes too much.  It’s the first time he’s felt his age and it’s like everything is deteriorating, like his body is giving up after so many years of fighting and it’s painful but it’s also one of the most beautiful things Liam has ever experienced.

Liam lolls his head to the side, catching a glimpse of the notebook. It’s still opened to the last page, the one with the small fountain shakily sketched at the center. He reaches out, the muscles in his arm aching in protest, and drags the pads of his fingers over the pages tracing the drawing and the words etched beneath it  (it had always been about time) the best he can before staying awake and lucid becomes too much and Liam finally closes his eyes.

He doesn’t wake up.

_(“Meet me somewhere out there in time, love. Physically. Spiritually. Eternally.”)_


End file.
